Reasons
by Diana Obelisk
Summary: There's a fighter in everyone, if they can find a reason. What happens when Italy finds his reason? If you read, review please. Rated T for just in case.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Sadly, this means that I cannot own Germany, Italy, or Britian. So there.**

_Prologue_

Italy lay on his back, eyes open. He was aware, dimly, of Germany watching him, but was too absorbed in his own thoughts to ask him why.

Earlier that day, Germany had approached him—yet again—about his lack of discipline on the fighting field. He had asked if Italy could not 'find a reason to fight.' Italy frowned slightly. Did Germany, then, have a reason to fight? And, if so, what was it? Italy's frown deepened. How could anyone have a _reason_ to fight anyway? It was so…dangerous. Those who didn't die, in Italy's experience, came out covered with scars and full of pain. What reason could someone have to justify doing that not only to themselves but to others?

Germany's eyes seemed to bore into Italy's head, though he was sure that Germany would barely let it be noticed that he was looking at Italy. Most likely, Germany would simply glance out of the corners of his eyes. But it still bothered Italy quite a bit. Growling slightly (he felt Germany start back slightly when the growl escaped his throat) he turned so that he was facing away from the blond-haired man, punching the pillow as he did so.

'_Back to the matter at hand,'_ Italy thought. _'Why _would_ I fight? Whenever I do, Germany seems to have to save me. And he almost always gets hurt. I don't like that!'_

The train of thought bubbled quietly for a while, and Italy realized that his eyes were wet. He was always prone to tears, but…why was he crying **this** time? Thinking back, he remembered how he had recalled the various times Germany had had to save him. A tear escaped and fell to Italy's pillow. Italy smiled. Was that it, then? He could not bear the thought of his…friend—yes, that was surely what he should call Germany, a friend—anyway, of his friend getting hurt?

But now he was curious again. Germany's eyes bored into his back, and Italy turned around suddenly. He had to know…why _did_ Germany fight? So he asked, in the usual light and airy tone, as if it didn't matter to him, not really, but he couldn't keep his eyes shut, found them searching Germany's pale blue eyes.

"Why—why do I fight?" Germany repeated.

"Sì! You said that everyone had to have a reason to fight. So what's yours, Germany?" Italy queried.

Germany blushed slightly, and if they were standing (and, of course, if Italy was fully dressed), he would have looked down to the side. Italy just knew it. "I…I…fight…oh, what does it matter? I fight to protect you, Italy. Is that so hard to understand?"

Italy frowned. If Germany fought to protect Italy, then Italy made him hurt himself by not fighting.

Suddenly, he had it. The idea made his eyes light up. He would fight to keep Germany from getting hurt. And once the fighting was done, they would patch up each other's wounds like they always did.

Within moments, he was able to sleep soundly once again, arms wrapped around Germany's torso. Germany looked down at the mess of reddish-brown hair upon his chest and blushed slightly, but laid his head back and closed his eyes for sleep nonetheless.

**A/N: So there you have it. Hints of romance, completely not canon, set in modern day but AU because...erm. I can't tell you. Not...not yet. Er...so...maybe...set back in World War 2.**

**But don't call Germany a Nazi! He just...had a really, really bad boss. Yeah, we'll go with that, K?  
**

**And historically accurate, you say? I laugh, because this most certainly will NOT be historically accurate. At ALL. So THERE.  
**

**Please don't be offended...please don't hate me...I'M SORRY!  
**


	2. Calm

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I make no profits off of this. So hah!**

**Note: If you review this as a guest, then I will respond in the author's note at the end of the chapter. That's all! Enjoy!**

_Calm…_

* * *

_The field was green. Germany looked around, taken aback. The last thing he remembered was fighting, fighting in a battlefield where vision was limited by the drifting smoke, smoke caused by cannons and guns. But this landscape was peaceful, a green hill covered in grass, surrounded by woods. There was a slight mist over the ground, moving slightly as the wind took it. All was silence._

_And then…_that_ voice, that __**voice**__, drifting brightly across the green to shatter the calm around Germany. "Hey, hey Germany? Germany? Are you there, Germany?"_

_Germany sighed. So much for peace and quiet. At least, he reasoned, it still smelled…fresh. "Ja, I'm here. What do you want?" Their voices echoed strangely and beautifully, as if they were surrounded by a void and rock all around them at the same time, as if the sound should have taken forever to travel the distance but did in mere seconds._

"_Why do you fight?" Italy stood in front of him now, and Germany shook his head in confusion—when had Italy gotten there? No memory could tell the tall, blond man, but another struggled to rise. Hadn't this question been asked before? No! No, that was nonsense._

_And without meaning to speak, without meaning to move, Germany found himself brushing hair out of Italy's face gently, eyeing his dark suit thirstily, and all the while speaking, "Why do I fight? A funny question, meine liebe, but I'll answer it anyway. I fight to keep you safe. I fight to protect the man I love."_

_Panic rose within Germany's chest, rose and congealed there. What was he saying? He could not confess this to Italy, he could not! Not now! He was not ready to…to…_

_All thought dissolved as Italy smiled, and brought Germany in closer. Germany fought himself as he bent down, but he had no control over his body or movements, not anymore._

"_That's good," Italy murmured, his hot breath on Germany's lips. Germany shut his eyes, tried to fight down the feelings swarming within him as his stomach did flips, but he could not. And then they were kissing, and it was sweet and warm and Germany fought to replace the tension he felt slipping off of his shoulders, because this was not right, he felt that he was taking advantage of Italy, and that simply would not do. Suddenly there was chatter all around both of them, and Germany was wearing a suit with a white carnation in the lapel, not the military uniform that he had on a minute before. Or _had_ he been wearing a military uniform? _

_Where was he? The kiss almost succeeded in drowning everything out, and that was not good because Germany had enemies, he always had to be alert and ready to protect Italy, ready to fight, and that was why he could not ever, ever let his guard down and could never, never let himself open up to Italy, because then the love would be too much, and Italy would end up hurt or…or worse._

_Dead._

_As Italy disengaged from the kiss, and Germany's eyes opened again, he saw something glitter before it plunged into Italy's back. A sharp tip of something speared the white carnation on Germany's lapel, and Italy's suit—now a creamy white, Germany noticed—turned crimson as blood leaked quickly from the wound. Germany screamed his rage and agony and fear as Italy sank down in his arms, eyes going blank, dull, glassy…lifeless._

* * *

Germany woke with a sudden intake of breath and disengaged from Italy's grasp carefully, so as not to wake the quietly sleeping figure. Dreams like that always unnerved him, were the reason he never slept late. They had become more and more common lately, too, to the point that he was having them almost every night. But he never allowed himself to dwell upon them. A dream kiss with a dream Italy did not matter, was not real, and so he did not think about it too much lest he let his guard down. If Italy died in a dream, well, then, that was a bad dream, but Germany could not allow for that dream to become a reality by focusing on it.

But now, in the darkness of the morning, before the light had started to come into the windows, he let himself dwell upon it, let the tears fall, so that it would not affect him later on. Every tear was silent—he made sure of that, certified it so as to not wake Italy. As they fell, he wondered. He had said, 'the man I love' in the dream. He didn't love Italy, but he knew that there were many people who believed that every part of the dream was part of the dreamer. That made sense. So, then, did a part of him love Italy? No, that did not make sense if Italy was supposed to represent a part of Germany. Perhaps he loved—yes, that was within the constraints of the rules—he loved his view of Italy, or he loved Italy as he viewed Italy, or…

Germany glanced up at the clock. It had been half an hour already, the time he allotted himself for reflection upon whichever dreams he had. He dried his tears on a quickly drawn tissue, blew his nose, and rose. Soon little Italy would be awake. He should start to cook breakfast for the two of them.

* * *

Breakfast was happily quiet, with Italy smiling all the while as if he knew something Germany didn't. By the time they had finished their bread and margarine, sunlight was streaming in through the window cheerily. Silverware clanked softly against dishes as Germany gathered them up. Italy wandered into the living room and switched on the T.V.

"_Tensions have been mounting as Russia continues to attempt to invade France by sea, threatening surrounding countries as well," _a reporter was saying.

Germany shook his head and called out, "Italy! We should get started with training! I'll go get Japan, you get ready!"

The T.V. switched off and Italy started upstairs with a faint, 'Si!' and more speaking in Italian which was too quiet for Germany to make out.

* * *

**A/N: Yay! Another chapter! This is hereby set in present day! Yay! (Or the near future, 'cause that's actually MUCH easier. I mean, no accuracy need apply, but if you are accurate, that's ok, too!)**

**The breakfast is based off of a traditional German breakfast, or one variation of a traditional German breakfast. If it was accurate, actually, there would be cheeses and meats with the bread as well as the butter and jam. You can pretend there was if you'd like; I don't mind.**

**And Germany is actually currently strongly allied with France (as well as the UK and the US)**

**Reply to guest reviews:**

**Chapter one:**

**Review one:**

"**I really like this story! It's really cute. Are you planning on continuing?"**

**I'm glad you like this story! And thank you for saying that it's cute. I really am glad you enjoy it. I am planning on continuing, but for how long I do not know.**

**Review two:**

**Awesome! Are they going to be drabbles?**

**Thank you for saying it's awesome! No, I do not intend for these to be drabbles, but they might end up as drabble-y. There will be a plotline, though it may be vague.**

**Thank you guys all so much for the reviews and the support WITHIN the reviews! I appreciate it so much! So thank you, POTAYTO-POTAHTO! And thanks to my guest reviewers!**


	3. Before the Storm

**Disclaimer: I do not own the world. Or Hetalia (because if I owned Hetalia, as numerous people have pointed out, the first statement would be rendered false).**

**A quick note: Whenever I have a country speaking with their boss, it will be in the country's most common language, or at least the language that the boss is most well known to speak. That being said, I don't know anything but English fluently, and I've only learned a bit of German, so there most likely will be mistakes. If you spot any, please, please, **_**please**_** let me know. Literal-ish translations will be posted in (parenthesis) and **_**italics**_**. **_(Like this.)_**Less literal translations will also be in bold and with brackets. [**_**Like this**_**]**

**That's all, and thanks for reading!**

…_Before the Storm_

"Count off!" Germany shouted.

"Uno!"

"Ni!"

Germany frowned. Italy was usually cheerful, but today he seemed…determined. _'What is going on?'_ he wondered.

His worry waned as he ran, but his mind (which normally would have been cleared enough that he didn't _have_ to think) raced nonetheless. _Why _was Italy determined like this—all of a sudden? Why was he _running_? He normally wouldn't go past a slow, stumbling walk after running for a little while, but today—though his pace was slow—he ran on through his fatigue. Germany slowed his pace to come closer to him, and heard Italy wheezing out words. He could only make out his own name, and Germany didn't think he should ask. If whatever Italy was speaking about meant that he would train _properly_ for once, then Germany would not stop it. Although, if this kept up Italy might overwork himself or get heat exhaustion or…that was enough to make Germany stop and call for a break. He would train more, tomorrow, when Italy had rested some.

* * *

Italy was exhausted. He had been running for who-knew-how-long, and…god, he was so _tired_. His pace slowed for a second, and he caught Germany looking back at him with concern. Italy furrowed his brow in concentration. If he trained, he would be better able to fight, and if he could fight, Germany might not get hurt as much. He remembered the 1600s. Fighting for Holy Roman…no, he couldn't think about that, or his resolve would crumble. He needed to focus.

Germany stopped ahead of him suddenly, and Italy almost ran into him. It felt almost good, actually, how energized he was while being completely drained. He almost laughed at the oxymoron. He was giddy and breathless, but he made himself focus as Germany started to speak.

"Italy, it's good that you're trying so hard, but you shouldn't increase too much all at once or you'll overwork yourself. Let's take a break for today, we can train more tomorrow."

"No, Germany, I want to finish training for once!" Italy smiled and closed his eyes, but hoped against hope that Germany would see how tired he was and insist. Much to his dismay, Germany smiled and laughed a bit, shook his head, and resumed running.

"Fine, but we stop soon, ok?" Germany called over his shoulder.

Italy could only nod as he started running again.

* * *

Training ended before long, but the moment they stopped running, Germany's phone rang. It was most likely, he reasoned, his boss.

„Hallo. Ludwig hier." _(Hello. Ludwig here.)_

„Hallo Ludwig. Es ist ich, Angela." _(Hello Ludwig. It is me, Angela.)_

„Ach! Hallo, wie geht es Ihnen?" _(Ah! Hello, how are you?)_

„Gut, dankeshön. Ich habe eine neue Nachricht für Sie." _(Good, thank you. I have a message for you.)_

„Wirklich? Was ist es, dann?" _(Really? What is it, then?])_

„Russland hat Frankreich angegriffen...noch einmal. Es ist zuviel ein Gefahr. Sie gehen morgen zu Krieg." _(Russia attacked France...again. It's too much a danger [__**too much of a threat**__]. You go to war tomorrow.)_

Germany frowned. „Ja. In Ordnung. Ich verstehen." _(Yes. In order [__**ok**__]. I understand.)_

With that, his boss hung up, leaving Germany to explain to Italy. After all, they were no longer strong allies, and he could not drag a country into war just because they were still friends…though the lack of being strongly allied to one another did make their training session all the more confusing.

In fact, Germany noted, Italy _had_ been a little clingy of late. He didn't have the time with wondering why, not with having to prepare for battle, but…it was still a bit unsettling. Maybe Italy was finally forgiving him for…the invasion. Germany had _hated_ that, had hated how it was not by the choice of either of them. And fighting each other, too.

He hated going to war against his friends.

* * *

Germany sat on the steps of his house with a frown as Italy ate some fresh-cooked pasta. "Italy?"

Italy smiled up at him, simply asking, "Yes, Germany? What is it?"

"I'm going. Tomorrow. I have to stop Russia."

Italy's eyes opened as his smile dropped. "What? But Germany…I thought…I thought we were going to train tomorrow! No, I don't want you to go!"

Germany sighed as he said, "I don't want to, but my boss told me I had to. I don't have the choice." He had known that this would be a problem he would have to face. And surely now Italy would say…

"Then I want to come with you!" Italy's smile was back, if it wavered a bit. "I'll fight this time! I promise! Germany, please?"

Anger exploded in Germany, sprouting from fear. "No, Italy! Listen to me! Do _not_ follow after me. I will _not_ let you get hurt. I will _not_. We are not even strong allies anymore! You will stay here!"

Tears sprung up in Italy's eyes, and he started to shout back (since when did the younger Vargas brother _yell_?). "What, so I can stay home and cook the pasta and watch as you fight and then die? So that I can promise you sweets for when you get back, but once you do it's in a _coffin_? So that I can stay here and…and…wait for your corpse in a pretty box?" With that, Italy burst into tears. Germany did not know what to do.

"Italy…" Germany tried.

"Shut up." Tears leaked down Italy's face. Italy was standing, and Germany didn't remember him standing because he was so shocked. Italy's head was bowed, and Germany fought down the memories of his falling, blood soaking through a cream-coloured suit. No! He could not think about that now. He had to protect Italy, and right now that meant comforting him.

"Italien…" His distress forced him back into German, but that was ok, he knew Italy would understand. Many North Italians spoke German (or a combination of German and Italian, some blend of the two) rather than Italian.

"I said SHUT UP!" Italy's hands were fisted now, and his arms were locked from the stress of every muscle being tensed. "Do you have any idea…no, of course you don't." He collapsed onto the porch, next to the abandoned, nearly empty pasta bowl. "I don't want to stay here while a friend (Germany noticed the hesitation over the word 'friend,' but decided he would examine it later) goes and get hurt or…or killed."

Germany reached out and pulled Italy to him. The smaller man didn't resist, almost as if he wanted Germany to do that all along, and Germany wrapped his arms around Italy hesitantly. He was no good at comforting people, but he would do his best, for Italy. As he rubbed small circles into Italy's back, he murmured, "I won't die. It's just a little skirmish. At the very worst, I can bring it to Belarus' attention and she'll chase after Russia again. You've seen what happens to soldiers when their country is gone. It's chaos. It'll be much, much easier to fight after that."

Italy laughed a bit when Germany brought up Belarus, and pulled back, wiping at his eyes with the hem of his sleeve.

"Promise me you'll come back?" Italy asked quietly.

"Of course," Germany said. "Of course I'll come back. I promise."

Italy stood, nodded, and said, "You need to get ready, don't you? I should probably go home, then."

"Ja. I _will_ see you again, as soon as I come back. Ok?"

Italy nodded and turned, racing down the street to his house.

After all, he needed to prepare, too.

* * *

**A/N: Wow! That went a lot faster (and better) than I expected. Writing the part in German was very fun!**

**So, I had a lot of fun for Independence Day, yesterday. Where my family went, there were three or four different fireworks displays visible, and they all ended at a different time, so when the closest one ended, we watched the next closest one for a few minutes, and once that ended, we watched the next one for a while. It was BRILLIANT! And of course, that morning we had had a British-style breakfast. (Not **_**quite**_** an English breakfast, but not far off, either.) So it was a good day, all in all.**

**Thank you for reading! If you review, I'll send you a telepathic cookie. And…um…what was I going to say…?**

**Oh, yeah! What do you guys think Italy is going to do? **

**EDIT! I forgot to do the guest reviews...sorry guys!  
**

**Only one, commenting on chapter two:  
**

**Guest: Good stuff! I 3 me some GerIta. Can't wait for the update.**

**Me: Well thank you! I absolutely LOVE GerIta, too. And...well, this is the update, so you don't have to wait long!  
**


	4. Blood and Surprises

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, and I make no profit off of the production of this story.**

_Blood and Surprises  
_

Smoke drifted across the battlefield, mixing with dust kicked up from the ground. Shots echoed off of the hard stone, forming walls around them. Germany felt his men die, felt as each life was taken, and simply closed the sensation off. He could not allow for distractions right now. In the middle of a battle, distractions cost time, and each second was precious.

He ran and let out a shot here, there, anywhere really, where he saw the enemy. Bullets whizzed past his head and one nicked his ear—pain burst out from the spot, but he didn't let himself stop to take it in. Right now he had to fight. If he didn't, Russia would get too powerful…and then every country—including poor Italy—would be terrorized.

He spotted Russia through a fresh waft of smoke, and took out his cell phone. Quickly, he opened it, crouching behind a rock, and made a call.

"Belarus. I found him. I know you can hear me, and I know you can track the phone. Just…show up. Russia will be close by this phone."

Silence was on the other end of the line, but Germany knew Belarus had heard. He flipped it closed and shoved it into a pocket. With her characteristic speed in anything involving her brother, she would be there in seconds. How it was possible, he had no idea, but once she got here, she would be too busy chasing Russia to realize that he needed help in this battle, and Russia would be too busy trying to run away to fight.

Granted, he would most likely pay for it later.

Standing, he went to follow the giant as he moved off. With any luck, Russia wouldn't notice that Germany was following. Of course, Germany reasoned pessimistically, wars—or even little battles, such as this one—didn't often go very well for him.

A blur passed by him, and he smiled. Belarus, without even meaning to, would be the downfall of Russia with her clinging. But he was shocked when he saw Russia smiling, holding something straight out…almost as if he was lifting a person by their neck.

He couldn't see; the smoke was too thick. And then it cleared a bit between him and…

"Italy!" Germany was yelling and running now, with no thought to his personal safety.

"No, Germany! Don't!" Italy cried out.

"You shall be quiet now, little man. Become one with Russia later, da?" Russia spoke with a smile, but threw Italy down so that his head struck a rock.

* * *

"_Romano?" _

"_What do you want now?"_

_Italy smiled. "I need weapons."_

_Romano started back, but a smile slowly spread across his face. "You're finally going to kill that potato bastard, aren't you?"_

"_No…but I do need to fight someone."_

"_Pity…" Romano muttered. He stood, and beckoned Italy to follow him into a dark, cluttered room. "I don't get along with you, but you're still my brother. Take whatever you like."_

_Italy stalked forward, his brow furrowed in determination. Two handguns…and something quiet._

_Two throwing daggers. Perfect._

_He was ready._

* * *

Italy woke up groggily, pulling away from the memory. He needed to fight…Germany would be in trouble if he fought Russia in front of Belarus! And after Germany saw them…Italy had never seen him look so furious.

He stood slowly, pulling out a throwing dagger. He could see Germany standing, his arms pulled behind him. Belarus was the one holding his arms behind his back—she was surprisingly strong—as Russia fired hit after hit into Germany's body with that iron pole. Germany seemed to be fighting to stay conscious, if only for his troops.

As Italy watched, Germany dragged up his head to look at Italy, and shook his head slightly, eyes wide. Italy stood stronger now, seeing what had happened to Germany. He would not let Germany get hurt, not again, not now, not _ever_.

And so he pulled back the knife and calculated. He hated loss of life, so he aimed carefully. Not a mortal wound, for when a country died countless millions of citizens were either displaced or, more often, killed. That could not be allowed. But with a wound, sometimes only the country was wounded, without many citizens dying. So Italy took aim, let the first dagger fly, and immediately pulled out the next one. Russia fell, the blade sinking into his lower back, right in the center.

Italy hope he had not caused any permanent damage as he let the next dagger loose, tearing towards Belarus, who was pulling out her knife and—

Thud.

Italy could barely watch as the dagger went through Germany's arm and then his stomach, drawing back for another stab when, with yet another sickening thud, the dagger buried itself to the hilt in Belarus, into her chest, just below the sternum. Her breathing hitched and she went down, Germany falling with her.

Italy rushed over to Germany's side, already fumbling with the med kit he had taken with him. He would fight to protect Germany, but he would not take a life. If his actions caused a life to end…no, he would not accept that. He heard someone screaming, realized it was himself he heard. Immediately, he made himself stop.

"You'll…pay for this," Belarus wheezed out.

"This is a battlefield. I won't pay for fighting," Italy said seriously. He would not let her better him, not after what she had done to Germany. It was not acceptable.

He wanted to say something, to comfort Germany, but it had to wait. Right now, he needed to stop the bleeding. Still…

"Medic!" he shouted. "I need a medic here, now!"

He was already applying pressure when they came, using a clean gauze pad. There were three of them, but he barely noticed until they pushed him away, kicking and screaming to get back and save Germany, but one of them held him back.

None of them were helping Belarus or Russia. Of course, they were German. One lifted a gun, even, about to shoot Belarus in the head.

"No! No! Don't shoot her! Don't shoot!" Italy begged, but he heard a shot, and then he saw nothing through the tears, heard footsteps and another shot and…

The battlefield raged on. How could it rage on when the countries leading it were either dead or severely wounded?

Italy sank to the ground, defeated. If it were not for his need to protect Germany, he would allow for himself to die there and then. His actions had left two bodies cooling on the ground. Who was waiting for them at home? Family? A lover, perhaps? But no, he knew these people, did not know of family who still could see them or lovers that they would have waiting.

A body charged through the smoke, and Prussia came at them quickly. He gave the dirtiest look he could muster to Italy, and then charged to his brother's side, speaking with a medic quickly, and then rushing off yet again, shooting a glare at Italy over his shouler.

More shapes. Italy stood, took out a gun. Russian soldiers charged out, aiming for the medics and for Germany.

Seeing a gun pointed at Germany's head broke all barriers, and Italy fired one shot, two, three, four. The bodies lay strewn about him, and Italy could not care anymore. He felt a darker side, a side he had kept repressed, that had appeared once Holy Roman Empire had died, and that darker side was coming back. His lips twisted in fury, and he stood with feet spread shoulder width apart, arms straight down at his sides.

More bodies, and Italy waited to be sure that they would not be German forces and then he shot, to kill. This time there were only three, and Italy realized that the entire battlefield had fallen silent.

The smoke drifted away as he stood there, and he felt tears start to drip down his face.

A medic put a hand on his shoulder, saying, "They'll live. They'll all live. You shot every one of those soldiers in the knee…"

There was awe in the medic's voice, and Italy looked down at the gun he held, trying to remember. So…so he hadn't ended lives, eh? Well, that was fine by him.

"They might not be able to walk again," he found himself saying.

The medic just smiled and shook his head, but at a panicked cry, he whipped around and ran.

"Where did she go?"

Italy was just turning around to see what was going on when he heard a big bang, and everything collapsed into a void of pain and darkness.

* * *

**A/N: DUN DUN DUN!**

**So, sorry I didn't leave long for you guys to guess, but...well...I couldn't not write! I couldn't do it!**

**But you don't mind, do you? Because this means I've updated.**

**And I think it's funny how everyone writes battle fanfiction about Germany and Italy (myself included), and when someone gets shot it's a big deal, when in (oh, what episode was it) Hetalia: Axis Powers we see England angrily pull a BOMB out of his HEAD while saying something about Germany getting him with 'that stupid Blitzkrieg.' **

**Yeah, getting shot must be a big deal…uh-huh. **

**But who can resist the drama of Germany and/or Italy getting shot and being in peril? I mean, really!**

**Oh, and would 'Blood and Bullets be a more fitting title for this? Lemme know, 'cause I'm thinking about changing it but I want to know what you guys think!  
**

**Corrections? Questions? Comments? Leave them in the box down below! (Please?)**


	5. Awakening

**Diclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I am not a mangaka! So don't sue me! I'm not selling this, just making it available for King Himaruya's faithful followers! **

_Awakening_

Italy didn't open his eyes when he first awoke. He knew how this would work. Once he awoke, the punishment would begin. So first he absorbed as much of the surroundings as he could.

His arms were suspended over his head by chains that dug into his wrists, and something—sweat? Blood?—trickled down his face.

"You know, I know you're awake," a voice said somewhere in front of him. Italy opened his eyes. Everything seemed…fuzzy. Looking down, he saw he was wearing no shirt—bloody patches and bruises mottled the surface.

And then the pain hit.

"Nngh," was all Italy could manage to get out.

"Good. Now the _real_ pain can begin…" Belarus said. Italy dragged his eyes up to meet hers, past the haze of pain, and he saw Russia standing behind her. Both smiled. Belarus held a knife, and Russia held only the iron pole, but behind them Italy saw a table covered with instruments ready to inflict pain.

They laughed as Italy screamed.

* * *

Germany opened his eyes the moment he awoke, wanting to know where he was and what was going on and what the outcome of the battle was.

"It's hard to kill a nation. Don't worry, he should be fully healed by now, ready to go," a familiar voice said in another room.

Germany blinked a few times. He saw too much white for most places. Still, even after trying to clear his eyesight, he still saw the white. So he went on to his other senses. Cloth pressed against his body, with bandages where the knife wounds had been—though now there were little more than scratches.

He smelled antiseptic…was he in…a _hospital?_ Of _course_! They must have thought he was a human, and taken him in. That voice…it was Prussia's. He must have heard about Germany's injuries and come to reassure the people here.

He sat up slowly. There was no drip—obviously Prussia had done rather well at comforting them, which was good; they might otherwise have given them a transfusion which would ultimately have been rejected.

"Prussia?" he called.

"Ja! I'm here!" Prussia appeared around the corner and hurried over to Germany's bed.

"Where is Italy?" Germany couldn't help but worry, and that was alright for now. He would investigate why Italy was one of the first things that he said something about later; for now he would focus on his goal of keeping Italy safe.

"Why do you care? He got you hurt! He almost made us lose the fight!" Prussia shouted, his red eyes glinting. Germany was immediately glad that he seemed to have his own area.

He felt rage boiling up at the way Prussia spoke about Italy. "He also helped us to win the fight! And believe it or not, my wounds would have been much worse had he not helped! He was just trying to help…"

"To help _what_ exactly?" Prussia asked quietly. "Since when does _Italy_ of all people fight? And since when do you care about him?"

Germany looked away. "Look. I just need to make sure he's alright."

Prussia glanced at Germany with a note of evaluation. Something was different here, something that Prussia hadn't noticed before.

"Sources note that…Belarus and Russia have him," Prussia said reluctantly.

"What!" Germany yelled in stunned indignation.

"We know where, so you can go and help him if it's that important to you." Prussia could not keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Alright. Tell me where…"

* * *

Italy could not keep the tears back. He had tried, at first, but by now he had dissolved into a heap held up by either Belarus or Russia as the other beat upon him with their chosen weapons. It didn't help that the wounds healed within a few minutes, only for more to be created.

"This…is how…we treat our…enemies!" Belarus spoke, her words punctuated by stabs and slashes.

"And you hurt both me and my sister, so you're a lot of an enemy. But don't hurt him to badly, Belarus. Remember, at the end of this he will become one with Russia," the tall, silver-haired nation spoke. At the mention of Italy becoming one with Russia, Belarus hissed slightly.

Italy winced at the thought of Russia doing what…what he was going to do. And he felt sad, because it wasn't Germany…

Wait. _What_ was it that he had just thought? The beating faded away as he started to think. He was sad because…it wasn't Germany.

That explained a lot, Italy reasoned. The tears at the thought of Germany getting hurt, the need to protect his friend. Still, he thought, Germany didn't like him that way, so it would have to be forced to the side.

He realized the beating had stopped and looked around, broken from his daze, only to see Russia beginning to strip down.

He swallowed with a grimace and tried to brace himself.

* * *

**A/N: I was going to put in more but…that was just where the chapter was going to end, and I'm really angry at my friend (I'll call her Nevena if I talk about her much here) right now so I need to go and read some fanfiction to calm down and cheer up.**

**Hope you enjoy this…or…not enjoy, as the case may be.**

**Again, if you see any errors, please let me know.**

**As I have forgotten for the last couple of chapters, here's a huge round of applause for my reviewers!**

**Thank you:**

**crystal-chan**

**PridexWretchedlluver4ever**

**Pheonix 476**

**KeepCalmAndHaveATomato**

**POTAYTO-POTAHTO**

**and of course the three guest reviewers.**

**Your support is appreciated!**

**Diana out!**


	6. Lost and Found

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any affiliated products. I make no profit from the production of this fanfiction.**

_Lost and Found_

Germany paused, leaning his shoulder against a tree. He had healed, sure, but his body still ached from the speed of the thing, and he was low in energy, most likely a result of not eating a thing before charging off to save Italy. Currently, he was about a mile off from the cabin being used to keep Italy prisoner.

'_Who would have thought that a log cabin would have a basement suitable for keeping prisoners?' _he wondered. _'Although I suppose it makes sense for Russia and Belarus to have something that looks innocent. Especially if this happens often…'_

His thinking was not soothing Germany's frayed nerves, and so he stopped in favor of running. He would be there soon. All he could do was pray to god that nothing bad happened to Italy while he was coming.

* * *

They had unchained him for Russia. Italy grimaced. He was _sore_, and Russia had been freezing cold. Italy shivered just at the memory, and looked around. At least they had let him put his own clothes back on—though that in of itself was a trail, considering the amount of pain he was in. Of course, they had still made him keep his shirt off, which signaled bad things to Italy.

"Brother! Someone's outside, coming towards us!" Belarus called out into the empty air.

Italy didn't care anymore. It was too late. His mind had shattered with Russia only partway through with him. He had felt it give.

If only Germany had gotten to him in time.

Not caring anymore, Italy curled up into a ball, waiting for the death that was sure to come for him.

* * *

Germany pulled his gun out, leaning against the wooden wall next to the door leading into the cabin. Movement could be heard inside, but he had known he would need to fight his way to Italy, anyway. Now it was time for him to go inside and fight, fight for the Nation called Italy. Before he went in, he reminded himself of why he was going in. He was going in to protect Italy.

He stepped to the door and kicked it open, gun ready to fire in front of him. Belarus turned her head to look at him and hissed, while Russia stepped to where his metal rod leaned in a corner. Germany fired one shot, then another, not worrying about the consequences—after all, a Nation was only killed when the country they represented fell. Belarus and her brother fell with cries of pain.

"Italy!" Germany yelled. "Italy! Where are you? Italy!"

* * *

Italy had fallen into a haze of pain and washed-out memories, memories of Holy Roman Empire and the fighting back then, of past invasions and the times he had fallen prey to his own mind. He could see now, though, why Germany had never come for him. After all, he was stupid, and weak…

'_Stop it! Stop doing this to yourself!_'

Italy looked around. Where had that voice come from? He looked around. It had sounded like…

"Holy Roman…Empire?"

'_Italy! Italy! Where are you? Italy!'_

Italy shook his head, not used to hearing voices. But he still found that he was muttering to himself, "He's gone, Italy, he's dead. You know that. He's gone…"

He saw the instruments on the table, a knife glinting invitingly. Italy started to crawl for it, reaching out as if it were his last hope, but his hand fell back before he could grab it. He couldn't do this! He still had Germany…but Germany surely didn't care for him. Not in the way he cared for Germany. Who would be interested in him, he wondered. No one.

So he reached up and grabbed the knife, gritting his teeth, knowing that it would be better this way, that Germany wouldn't be so annoyed and that his brother would be happier and…he couldn't do it. But he had to! But he couldn't.

* * *

Germany ran about the house, looking for a way to get down to the basement, panicking. Why wasn't Italy answering his calls? He started to toss aside furniture and decorations, scant as they were, looking for a trapdoor of some kind. Finally, he found stairs leading down…

When he got down, everything was dark and concrete, but his vision quickly adapted, and he saw Italy…holding a knife…up to his chest.

"Italy!"

Italy turned his head and opened his eyes, and the shock made his muscles tighten, and he screamed as something pushed through his chest, burying its tip in his heart.

As the darkness closed in around him, he muttered. "It's better this way, Germany. Goodbye." He considered adding, 'I love you,' but it would be too much trouble to try to talk, and it would be harder for Germany that way, and that was not ok. So he simply let his eyes slide shut and let the pain drift away.

Germany ran to Italy and grabbed him around the shoulders, crying out as Italy's little body went limp. Italy would recover, but the fact of the matter was that he had tried to kill himself.

'_Never again. Never again will I let this happen to him,' _Germany promised himself. So he picked up Italy's little body, carrying him bridal style, and took him out of the cabin, closing the door behind him and starting to carry him out of the woods.

* * *

**A/N: Poor Italy! I'm officially evil…but this will end up ok! Just remember, England pulled a bomb out of his head, so a little knife shouldn't be a problem…right? Right?**

**The problem is, I'm not sure. I'm starting to cry because I hate character death and…oh, Italy! Don't die! **

**On a happier note, I got another guest review, this time on chapter 5!**

**Guest: Ack! Clifhanger! XD  
good job drawing the reader in! Can't wait to see what happens next, even though I feel terrible for poor Italy.  
You are such a quick updater! I'm jealous.**

**talk to you soon, I hope! XD**

**Me: Yes, cliffhangers. I both love them and hate them, because they're always right at a climax where I want to keep writing. And I'm glad I draw people in! Don't worry, I feel bad for Italy too. *sniffs* Poor Italy…Anyway, thank you for saying I'm a quick updater. I was actually worrying that I was a bit too slow…(Can you see me being a perfectionist, at all?) And don't be jealous, it's just that I do nothing but write and read and kayak or ride bikes all day. Talk to you soon, I guess…**


	7. Confessions

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I do own this plotline, but I do borrow ideas from other people (like Germany's dream in the beginning). So thank you, all!**

_Confessions_

Germany didn't think Italy needed to deal with his older brother then, so he went through the woods to Berlin, choosing from emptier streets and ignoring the stare from Prussia when he barged through the front door, covered in blood. He prayed that it wasn't too late.

Without any thought given to the amount of blood that would get onto his sheets, Germany took Italy to his bedroom and laid him gently on the sheets. What he had to do next he knew he would not enjoy. Placing one hand around the wound from the dagger, Germany gripped the handle and pulled. Italy screamed again, jolting awake, and Germany's hand was all that kept him from bolting upright.

"I'm sorry, Italien. I'm sorry," Germany told him. Tears were in both of their eyes, and Germany knew that the bleeding would be severe. Still, Nations heal quickly—already the flesh wound was a little bit smaller, not quite as deep.

"Germany…why?" Italy frowned weakly. "Why did you save me?"

Germany smiled grimly. He had accepted it on his way back to Berlin, carrying Italy's nearly lifeless body. Now it was time to admit it to Italy, as well.

"Because I…I care for you." He looked away with a blush as he said it, but he said it all the same.

Italy smiled, but inside his heart broke. Germany said that he cared for him, but it could only be as a friend.

Germany looked at Italy, but Italy didn't respond, and tears began to leak from under closed eyelids. He sighed, and leaned down. Only one way for him to be able to get his point across. Well, he could say it, but he was no good with words.

Italy gasped as lips touched his, and everything seemed to hang frozen. Germany…was kissing him. Germany was _kissing_ him. _Germany_ was…

He broke out of his reverie, and immediately he thought that Germany didn't mean it, only didn't want to see him cry. He pushed Germany away, gently, and asked, "Do you mean that? Really?"

Germany frowned. "Why would I do that if I did not mean it?"

Italy shook his head gently, replying, "Well, if you didn't want to see me cry, or ifyou thought it was what I wanted, or if someone else pressured you or—mmph!"

Italy closed his eyes, glad that Germany found silencing with a kiss acceptable. He still didn't believe it was true, but…for a while, just a little while, what could it hurt to pretend?

Germany slowly bent closer to Italy, letting the smaller man relax more, and Italy allowed for himself to lose control—just this once.

Tanned fingers curled in blond hair, and both men found themselves sobbing slightly into the kiss. Italy let his free hand, the hand that was not dutifully mussing Germany's hair roam. It went everywhere—along Germany's back, down his side—before coming back up to rest on his chest. Germany shivered at the touch, and Italy delighted in feeling the heartbeat below Germany's skin, let himself believe that the racing meant something.

Wait…Germany's heartbeat was…racing. Italy broke away for breath and found that Germany, too, was panting, that…oh god. If Germany was panting, his heartbeat racing then…

"You _did_ mean it!" Italy found himself crying out, and then he threw his arms around Ludwig, who grunted in surprise as the face he had been holding dissappeared, but then wrapped his arms around Italy gladly.

Germany smiled over Italy's shoulder as the embrace went on, and finally allowed the tears of worry to release. There was no need to keep it bottled in, and Italy would obviously be fine, if he had the energy to hug him with such vigor.

Italy pulled away with a frown, and asked, "Germany? Why are you crying?"

Germany smiled through his tears, and answered, "I was just worried about you, that's all."

Italy smiled and took Germany's face gently in his hands, staring into his eyes for a second before pulling him into a kiss. It started off slow, and gentle, and simply the two of them experiencing being _there_, with each other, and then Italy sped it up and the two were fighting to become as close to one another as curled together in the heated breath of each others' mouths, and Germany couldn't help it—the joy of this wasn't something he was used to, and he was half-sobbing and half-laughing into Italy's mouth, his stomach flipping over and over, and there was so much joy and bliss that it was almost painful.

Once Italy was sure Germany would not pull away, he let his hands roam again, flitting from place to place, simply trying to makeGermany as happy as he could, feeling Germany's labored breathing into his mouth. He couldn't help it—even as his mouth continued the complex dance the two had begun, his lips curled into a smile.

Germany was the first to pull away, but he barely did, only enough to mutter something that Italy barely caught before plunging back in.

The echo of his words hung in the air. _"Ich liebe dich."_

Italy heard something fall, and he and Germany broke apart suddenly, Italy peering over Germany's shoulder as Germany turned as much as he could with neither of them letting go.

Prussia stood in the doorway, his mouth gaping. A first aid kit lay forgotten on the floor.

Germany squeezed Italy a little tighter, as if to say _I'll be back, _ and he walked over to where Prussia was.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

Prussia gaped a little more before finding his wits and saying, "I just came…with the first aid kit…to help you…take care of…Italy. And…why were you two _kissing?_"

Germany smiled. "Well, _Bruder_, when people in Germany love someone, they will sometimes find the need to kiss someone. I thought you would know that, seeing as you currently live at my place. Plus, kissing is a rather common practice in your country, too, is it not? In most countries, in fact."

Italy frowned, his mind reeling. _'When people in Germany _love_ someone?' _he wondered. _'Does that mean…Germany loves me? Of course he said it but…it's true?'_

He looked down at himself as if to make sure everything was there, and pinched his arm. He was awake, alright.

Prussia nodded before making a quick turn-about and running off, yelling, "I'll leave you two to it then! First aid kit's on the floor!"

Germany smiled and turned. "Do you need it?" he asked gently.

Italy looked down to the place where his chest had been torn open to see a little scratch, which dissapeared as he watched.

"No, I don't."

Germany smiled and nodded, and the words he meant by them were clear. _Good. I'm glad._

He sat on the bed beside Italy after closing the door gently, and brushed his face with one gloved finger.

"Germany?" Italy asked,

"Yes?"

"Ti amo."

Germany smiled and pulled Italy into a hug, leaning down so that Italy would not have to strain himself too much, and Italy pulled him down further, kissing his ear, his temple, every bit he could reach.

"Stop," Germany commanded. "Stop, liebling."

Italy froze. He knew German, of course he did—many Italians spoke either German or a mix of German and Italian, rather than the pure-blooded Italian spoke more commonly in South Italy—but he had not expected the pet name.

"Don't overexert yourself," Germany admonished quietly.

"I won't. And neither will you," Italy responded. Germany frowned, but Italy kissed him again before he could ask.

**A/N: Super super super sorry about the long wait! The computer I use (I call it my computer, but it's actually my mother's) stopped working and so the past day was without computer access. I lost the work I had started on this chapter. (It was mostly the same, but there was a slight difference here and there. Nothing I could actually tell you about, but enough that I noticed.)**

**It is now up and running properly, though, so no worries!**

**As a thing that will slow me down, though, I am back to working on my book…it's my baby, and I'm neglecting it. So that stops…as soon as I get this chapter up, actually. ON TO PUBLICATION!**


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